


there'll be snow, and mistletoe

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [3]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Hey guess what, I feel like I deserve a reward, I looked at all the angsty ways I could take this, No Angst, and went 'nah', day 3: mistletoe, like straight up, this is actual fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Pippa didn’t know where the mistletoe had come from, who had put it up, or for what purpose. It had simply shown up one day, unobtrusively, hanging first from the archway in the great hall, then at the entrance to the potions classroom, the chanting room, even above the door to a broom closet.





	there'll be snow, and mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the silliest fics I wrote for this challenge, so like, enjoy? It's also one of the longer ones, so at least there's a good chunk of fluff here to make up for all the angst I'm funneling into this challenge for the rest of the month.

Pippa didn’t know where the mistletoe had come from, who had put it up, or for what purpose. It had simply shown up one day, unobtrusively, hanging first from the archway in the great hall, then at the entrance to the potions classroom, the chanting room, even above the door to a broom closet (Pippa tried not to think about the assumptions that went into that particular choice of location). All she knew was that one of her students - or perhaps, though she doubted it, one of her staff - had placed a rather impressive sticking spell on it, and nothing she did could get it down. It would, she supposed, have to stay put until time, or boredom on the part of the spell caster, loosened the spell’s grip. 

And while Pippa had noticed it immediately - she made it a point to not miss the goings-on in her school, especially not the ones people actively wanted her to miss - it had taken the rest of the school almost a full day to realize it was there. It was, in fact, only around dinnertime that she began hearing the first whispers of  _ “did you hear about the you-know-what?”  _ and  _ “I heard Amira and Xavier got stuck and it wouldn’t let them go until…  _ you know _.”  _ And while she supposed she should have been more concerned about an unapproved magical object floating around her castle unchecked, the mistletoe seemed to be bringing jollity and entertainment more than anything else. So she let it go, but continued monitoring both the mistletoe and everyone’s reactions to it, to make sure that all was as well as it should be.

And in the meantime, Pippa made a point of looking  _ very  _ carefully at every doorway she walked under, and made quite certain that she never, under any circumstances, walked through at the same time as anyone else.

Until, of course, she did.

And under possibly the worst circumstances she could have foreseen. 

It was a few days after the end of term, and though the castle was, for all intents and purposes, deserted, the mistletoe, for some reason, remained, making its daily leap from doorway to doorway. Her students and staff had all gone home for the holidays, to families and warm, cozy beds and holiday feasts. Which left Pippa alone, to a blissful few days of peace and quiet. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t love the hustle and bustle of life in at school. In fact, for ten months of the year, she thrived on it, passively encouraging the noise and chatter of students socializing, practicing their magic, getting into whatever mischief they could get away with before their antics inevitably came to the attention of Pippa and her staff. But those few days where Pippa had the castle - her  _ home  _ \- to herself, were among her favorite of the year. And they had been wonderful. 

She had slept as late as she wanted (which was, to be certain, a good bit later than would be considered appropriate for a witch of her position). Indulged in the decadently sweet breakfasts she never would during the school year, for fear of setting a poor example for her pupils. Wandered the hallways well into the late afternoon without ever putting on proper clothing. She had relished that time thoroughly and completely, savored every precious moment of it, knowing it was far too fleeting, no matter how happy she would be to have company once again.

But still, she had found herself counting down the days. Not until her students came back, but until the visit she had somehow managed to arm-twist Hecate into taking. A full week, alone, at Pentangle’s, with no possibility of interruptions, or impending catastrophes, or any other sudden, pressing school-related issues. No girls crashing their broomsticks, or young wizards who had decided to try a far-too-advanced spell to deepen their voices, only to bring their vocal range down so low that it shook the school to its actual foundation. (While Pippa wouldn’t say she had  _ enjoyed _ dealing with that particular mishap, she would have been lying if she said that she found no humor whatsoever in the shame-faced young wizard’s mumbled explanation that he had been trying to impress one of the witches in his year.) 

The wait, while perfectly pleasant and deeply indulgent, had been just that. A wait. Cackle’s let out for the holidays precisely four days later than Pentangle’s did, which meant that not only was Pippa left to her own devices for four days, but Hecate was busier than ever, preparing for the end of term. Far too busy, to be certain, for mirror chats or surprise visits. (Not that Hecate was one for surprises, either giving or receiving them. But she had, on occasion, welcomed Pippa’s own whims with much better grace than expected.) Pippa was, in short, a bit bored, a bit lonely, and more than ready for some company.

Which was why she didn’t feel even the least bit abashed at the way her heart soared when she first caught sight of Hecate making her descent to the castle grounds. Or the way her stomach fluttered at Hecate’s all-too-formal Well Met that was quickly followed by an uncharacteristically soft smile and a far less formal embrace. Or even the way her voice had hitched slightly, though definitely not slightly enough to escape Hecate’s notice, at her own hasty response, her Well Met almost completely muffled by the warm, slightly scratchy wool of Hecate’s cloak. 

“It’s  _ wonderful  _ to see you again,” Pippa said, and even she could hear the excitement in her voice. It felt a little bit like being fifteen again. Like coming back from school holidays and seeing Hecate for the first time in weeks. All the same joy and excitement and the all-too-familiar rush of something definitely not platonic that she had never quite been able to push down far enough for propriety’s sake. “I trust you had a pleasant enough flight? The skies seem to have cleared just for you today.”

“I had a cold flight,” Hecate said, a bit sourly, though her smile hadn’t faded a bit.

“Ah, yes.” Pippa laughed, graciously accepting Hecate’s motion to grasp her hand and transfer into the castle. It was a small gesture, only the slightest extension of Hecate’s fingers in her direction, but Pippa knew it well. And while she had her own (admittedly strong) preference for getting where she was going on foot or on broomstick, she had almost grown accustomed to Hecate’s insistence on transferring when at all possible. (Which was not, however, to say that she never pointedly informed Hecate that  _ I’ll just meet you there _ when she truly did not feel like dealing with the waves of nausea transferring brought on, however brief. Or to say that Hecate didn’t typically acquiesce and simply walk with Pippa on those occasions. But their differing preferences for short-distance transportation had been one of the first hurdles to overcome after their reconciliation.)

When they rematerialized in Pippa’s bedroom, Pippa found herself braced sturdily by hands on her shoulder and lower back, holding her steady as the room slowly swam back into focus. As her vision cleared, hazy shapes taking on clearer and clearer outlines, Pippa realized that she was staring directly at Hecate’s eyes, dark and concerned. 

“Has the transference sickness gotten worse?” she asked, sounding, if Pippa wasn’t mistaken, somewhat guilty. As though this were somehow her fault, as though Pippa hadn’t willingly grasped her hand, or readily allowed the transference. But of course, Hecate had always been one to feel guilt for things that were not her fault, to try and assume responsibility where none was needed.

“A bit,” Pippa admitted, with what she hoped would pass as a casual shrug of her free shoulder. “It seems to be getting worse as I get older. Which seems completely fair,” she added with a grimace.

“I hardly think that your transference sickness has given much thought to fairness,” Hecate said, her raised eyebrow betrayed by the traces of a smile still left on her lips. “Or to anything at all, for that matter.” Then, more seriously, “We could have walked. You know that?” 

Pippa hated that it was a sincere question. That Hecate still doubted that Pippa knew her needs and wishes and boundaries would be respected. That some part of her, any part of her, felt that Pippa truly thought that Hecate would have insisted on transferring, with or without Pippa, if Pippa had said something. That Pippa had any reason for doubt. But of course, to Hecate, there would always be a reason. As much as Pippa had forgiven her for past discretions, she knew Hecate had never truly forgiven herself. 

“Of course I know that,” Pippa said softly, moving in Hecate’s grasp to wrap her own hands around Hecate’s waist, pull her closer, breathe her in. “You just looked so cold. And I know how you hate the cold. Or anything pertaining to the cold. Or even the mention of being cold.”

Hecate scoffed, though not unkindly. “There’s still no reason to make yourself sick over a five minute walk,” she argued.

Pippa rolled her eyes, brushing her lips gently across Hecate’s cheek. “Well, as sweet as that is, I’m a grown woman, and more than capable of deciding that it’s worth it to endure a bit of a head rush to get you inside faster.”

“That was hardly  _ a bit of a  _ \--” Hecate started, but Pippa pressed a finger firmly to Hecate’s lips and shook her head sternly. 

“Grown woman. My decision. Not to be brought into question by cranky witches who are in dire need of a warm bath,” Pippa said, in the tone she used with particularly obstinate students. She could see the conflict behind Hecate’s eyes. The part of her that hated winter, hated the cold, hated, more than anything,  _ flying  _ in the cold, for several hours, and desperately, desperately wanted a long warm bath. Complete with a spell Pippa had altered from an ages-old one used for keeping tea at the appropriate temperature, which would keep the bath water warm for hours, if need be. 

But she knew, before Hecate even, perhaps, that the practical side of her was going to win out. The side that would say a bath was an unnecessary indulgence, especially with the luminescent pink bubbles Pippa always conjured for mood lighting, when a simple warming spell would do just fine. So, before Hecate had the chance to open her mouth, she added, “ _ I _ will be taking a bath, regardless.  _ You  _ are both free and more than welcome to join me.” Then, with a cheeky, teasing grin, “If it suits your sensibilities, that is.”

Pippa had barely extricated herself from Hecate, had not even taken a single step in the direction of her bathroom, when she heard the slightly exasperated sigh from behind her that Pippa knew meant she had won. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

“Honestly, Pippa, that smugness was always one of your least attractive qualities,” was Hecate’s only response.

Pippa just shrugged, grasped Hecate’s hand, and pulled her gently across the room to the bathroom door.

And that was where it all went horribly wrong.

The moment they reached the threshold to the bathroom, however, Pippa froze, held in place as though by--oh.  _ Oh, no _ . She didn’t want to look up, already knew what she would see. But she had to. She had to know, and sure enough, dread and embarrassment coursing through her when she saw exactly what she had been hoping would not be there. Hanging innocently above her, as though it belonged there, was the sprig of mistletoe that had ensnared her, and Hecate, in its net.

Of course, it was far too much to hope Hecate hadn’t noticed herself. She was far too observant for that. And indeed, when she glanced, cringing, to her left, Hecate was staring upward, looking deeply confused.

“Hiccup, I didn’t--” Pippa began. “You know I wouldn’t, it’s a childish joke, and absolutely not one set up by me, and--”

Hecate turned her expression back to Pippa, perplexed and perhaps, maybe, just a little judgmental. “Enchanted mistletoe is a binding magical contract, Pippa. You know that.”

“Of  _ course _ I know that! Honestly, Hecate.  _ This was not me. _ ” Pippa groaned and rolled her neck dramatically. She hoped, desperately hoped, that Hecate would believe her. That any part of her would recognize that enchanted mistletoe was one of the most juvenile of pranks possible, not to mention ethically questionable. And certainly not the sort of thing that Pippa would have thought would be a marvelous idea for a way to liven things up with her chronically skittish… 

Well, whatever they were. The precise nature of their relationship was something they hadn’t yet hammered out properly. Only that it was, very definitely, a relationship. One that held the same importance and significance to Hecate as it did to Pippa. Pippa had made sure of that, had told Hecate outright that she had best be quite certain of what it was she wanted this time, because  _ my heart simply cannot handle being broken by you again _ . And, true to her word, Hecate had been. At least, thus far.

But at this particular moment in time, Hecate just stared at her blankly. “If it was not put up  _ by you _ ,” she started, and Pippa immediately knew that this train of thought wouldn’t be stopping anywhere that ended well for her, “then how, exactly, did it end up in your rooms? That seems an awfully invasive action for another individual to take.”

Hecate wasn’t wrong. The mistletoe had been fine and dandy, a good laugh that had done no one any harm whatsoever beyond making everyone a bit more aware of what was going on above their heads for a few days, but it had, up until this point, restricted itself to common areas only. To Pippa’s knowledge, this was the first time it had made its way into any personal spaces of any kind. 

“It was a very well-executed prank put on by one of the students,” Pippa explained. “The staff and students all seemed to find it quite entertaining, and no one was upset in the least about it. So I let them have their lark for a few days, since we couldn’t figure out how to undo the sticking spell, anyway. But school let out for the holidays, and it was just me, so I didn’t concern myself about it, and frankly I didn’t think anyone would have the nerve to set it in my own personal rooms, though clearly I was mistaken on that front.” Her words were coming out faster and faster by the end, and she paused, a little breathless, then said, “And I really,  _ truly _ need you to believe that  _ I did not do this _ .”

It was with incredibly well-controlled mirth that Hecate steeled her expression, nodded with impressive solemnity, even for her, and said, “I believe you.”

“You do?” It was the only thing Pippa could think of to say, and though she recognized that it was not at all up to her normal levels of wit, she was truly, genuinely surprised.

Hecate shrugged, a little awkwardly, since she was still bound within the confines of the mistletoe’s spell. “If you say you didn’t put it up, then I have no reason to doubt your honesty. And,” she added, with what Pippa could have sworn was the slightest hint of teasing in her voice, “I would truly hope that you do not feel as though you would have to resort to such… drastic measures, just for a simple kiss.”

“Well, I don’t know.” Pippa smiled slyly, relief on behalf of her at least partially-intact reputation washing over her. “You  _ claim _ that it’s just a ‘simple kiss,’ but I certainly don’t see you hurrying to put your money where your mouth is.” 

It was a challenge, and not a particularly subtle one. But Hecate, who had always been easier to bait than cared to admit, rose to it admirably. “Is that a  _ request _ ?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

And in truth, their proximity, the way Pippa could feel Hecate’s words in the vibrations coursing down her spine, was more than enough to tempt Pippa into acquiescence. But she steeled her will, shrugged one shoulder in what she hoped could pass for nonchalance, and said, “Well, we’re stuck under this blasted mistletoe until  _ one  _ of us kisses the other, so honestly, may as well.”

She wasn’t quite sure what she expected Hecate to do at that point. But the gentleness with which her hands, cold as ice though they were even through the fabric of Pippa’s robe, found purchase at the base of Pippa’s back, the curve of her hip, took her by surprise nonetheless.

“That would appear to be true,” Hecate murmured. Then, with an entirely too familiar gleam in her eye, one that Pippa recognized from years back, from when Hecate knew she was about to turn the tides in her favor and couldn’t help feeling just a little smug about it, she added, “So, were you planning on kissing me so we can continue with our plans for the evening, or not?”

The word “ _ Honestly _ ” just barely passed through Pippa’s lips before her arms were looped around Hecate’s neck, her lips pressing firmly into Hecate’s. Pippa felt the spell loosen its grip, its price satisfactorily exacted. But it was Hecate pulled away first, to a rather dramatic groan of protest from Pippa.

“Pippa,” she said, very seriously. “As… enjoyable as this is, I’m afraid I am still, somehow, quite cold from my trip. Perhaps we could proceed as planned, and take up this particular activity again later?”

A broad grin brightened Pippa’s features almost instantaneously. “Later,” she agreed, pushing forward into the bathroom. “Or, we could just do both at once."

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr at thebestdressedrebelinhistory!


End file.
